


Aid

by bmouse



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pretty Damn Light On The Angst Though, Sex Pollen, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmouse/pseuds/bmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak and Bashir find themselves in a delicate situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aid

“You’re resisting it.”

“So far.” The doctor’s voice is tight. The expression on his face is similarly bleak, with a touch of irony as if a nurse had just told him that the patient has started bleeding in an unexpected location. 

So, there was no hope then.

“Are we being punished somehow?” The Human bares his teeth, outraged “Am I not allowed to take things slowly with someone anymore?! Has universe has cast me as ‘oversexed lothario’? Well I want out, damn it! I’m aging out of the role...”

He begins to pace the length of the quarantine pod, where it is only the two of them, the basin, the shower cube, and the wide bed in the corner. 

“I hate this! These things are only funny or titillating to read about until you think them through! And would you believe it in 77.454% percent of cases both parties involved awkwardly avoid each other for the rest of their duty tours regardless of prior affection?! Which frankly I’m not prepared to do, and I’m not sure you can afford and-” he trails off. They both know what he means.

On the second pass around the bed his long graceful fingers entangle themselves in the mesh of the headboard. They flutter and contract and the space-grade metal follows them, helpless. Garak can’t help but think that now is a terribly inconvenient time for crest-to-claws awareness of the power hidden in that warm, fragile body.

“I had a plan, you know. I was going to impress you...”

His friend’s eyes, which were busy looking anywhere but at the room’s other occupant are the first to admit defeat and now fix themselves on his face. When Garak meets them he can’t help but evaluate. Oh the sickness produces symptoms of desire, but it is impossible to fake this very specific want with the weight of history behind it; the raw, devouring quality of the doctor’s stare. Triumph unfurls somewhere just behind his ribs. 

“I confess, my dear. I’m touched by your romantic sensibility.” He manages to keep his tone even.

“I was considering yours, actually.” Flight-or-flight brittleness is easing out if his movements. For a moment the current delicate situation seems forgotten and it’s almost like they’re gently sparring over lunch.

“Please. Please tell me I’m not alone here - that you’ve imagined it too and not like…” 

Garak nods. He knows there is only a little time left to ease him into it, and he would prefer not to waste it explaining things better said in the morning.

The spores have no effect on Cardassians. No, his own speedy progression towards arousal is from the way sweat has begun to darken his friend’s hair, the sharpening smell of him, the way every curve of his body now conspired to accentuate his unconsciously arching back and the obscene pull of the fabric between his legs.

The two of them are almost nose to nose now. The doctor bites his lip. Color; blood beating hectically under the surface of the skin, rises up his neck and into his cheeks.

“Please, help me.” 

“Yes.” He says immediately. “Yes, of course. I intend to,” It’s meant to be light, but it comes out as gravely as an oath. Frankly, he would end anyone else who tried to lay a hand on him. 

The relief that sweeps through the young man’s posture is touching. He looks up and briefly the desire in his eyes is smothered with a wave of much more familiar affection. His pink lips curl into a sheepish smile even as the flush intensifies.

“Now, if could you help me not make it be strange.”

“Strange, well... That’s a very relative term isn’t it, my dear? Though I have thought of a way of possibly re-framing the situation. We can say that this is only one in a long line of encounters. Curious, certainly - given the circumstances, but part of an unbroken whole.” 

“Ah.” A spark of mischief kindles in the Human’s eyes. To Garak’s surprisingly intense relief they remain bright and self-aware. For now. “So in this scenario we’ve been intimately involved...?” 

“Oh for _years._ ” And now he could have sworn the tricorder had been wrong and he was susceptible, his own voice sounded so hungry. 

“I confess, I have already become a little spoiled by the lovely curve of your neck on my pillow and the way your skin changes color under my hands.”

His dear doctor, no it really should be ‘Julian’ from now on shouldn’t it, makes an outraged little snorting noise that makes him grin. As if he could start telling such a delicious lie without filling in some details! They spring so quickly to mind...Really they’ve been there all along; bright snares of fantasy he’s used to weaving in the air above his bed before he falls asleep. 

Which is why it strikes him as profoundly strange when Julian holds up his hand in the ubiquitous Federation ‘wait a moment’ gesture and kneeling down, begins to take off his shoes. 

He must have made an interrogative sound.

“They’re difficult, I mean. Shoes. Logistically. Honestly, I’ve never found a good time to take them off and I don’t want them to get in the way later.”

_Ah, later._

When they emerge his naked feet are shapely and brown like the rest of him. He even has pale, rudimentary claws trimmed almost to the quick in deference to some Human grooming standard. Five toes. How odd, and oddly dear.

“Oh I’m mucking this up something awful aren’t I? You really deserve better.” As he straightens up there is a determined set to his shoulders, an angle of ‘pursuit’ in his posture and Garak’s own longer claws flex unconsciously inside his shoes.

Without shaking, the doctor’s hand reaches out, traces the lower part of Garak’s aural ridge and he has to complete the circuit and put his palm on the Human’s cheek. Shyly, Julian turns his face into it; his warm lips skating across the ball of Garak’s thumb. Sweet, childish gestures that they don’t have time for. Still it takes too long for Garak to break eye contact, for his hand to move firmly down to Julian’s neck, feeling him swallow at the cool, comparatively rough texture his fingers. A response, Garak’s traitor of a memory supplies, associated with fear as much as desire.

Testing, he pulls the Human just a little closer and he comes willingly, his shoulder melting into Garak’s other hand. How to proceed? What new intimacy can he claim? Compassion dictates he let his friend set the pace as long as he is able-

Julian’s fingers fumble for the little zipper of his uniform. He almost wants to laugh. Humans are so _expedient_ about these things aren’t they.

“Damn! I c-can’t seem to-”

“Ssssh. If I may?”

It’s humbling to be trusted to do this, as eager as he is to have the ugly thing out of the way . After all, they are both men quite invested in their presentation. It would be humiliating to have anyone but a close friend unzip the coverall like this and peel it off his shoulders down to his hips. In it Julian is a symbol of the Federation; the picture of a capable, competent officer. 

Without it he looks so prey-like and soft.

In the spirit of efficiency Garak slits the lavender undershirt up the back with one of his sleeve knives. He can replicate another one, afterwards. He runs his palm over the Human’s exposed spine, gentling, the gesture almost an apology for taking away his last bit of protection. 

But Garak is the one who shivers. Oh this will ruin his thoughts. He will forever be comparing every flower petal he touches to the texture of his friend’s back. 

“And everything works out, in your scenario?” Julian is beginning to sound a little dazed now. His chest is damp and heaving where it’s pressed against the front of Garak’s suit. 

“Everything?” he murmurs against his neck. Oh how his teeth ache. 

He is a little dazed himself. The air between them is obscenely spiced and it is all he can breathe. Even the suit’s low collar is starting to chafe against his shamefully engorged neckridge, but his attention is elsewhere. Really, it’s as if his hands were made to bracket the younger man’s sides…

“With our, Ah! …our d-differences?” 

In his mind he can feel the fantasy slipping and wrenches himself back to his task. It’s just another one of their times. Just another evening when his beloved is so beautiful and so in need - a creature summoned from his earliest fantasies; to be taken, and taken in hand…but also his dear Julian who needs a long-time partner’s gift of ease. 

“Of course, of course. See?” Perhaps his voice is too rough to be properly soothing.

On impulse he kisses him, offers him a Human-style kiss that he hasn’t had any reason or opportunity to practice. It serves. Julian opens to him, twisting himself around him like a vine - all reticence melted away - his slim, strong arms winding around his neck, the sudden heat and pressure of them making him cry out. Little sounds lost and licked out of him. 

He has to keep himself on track, to steer them both through this but he simply must press his lips against Julian’s temple now, flicking his tongue out to trace a nonexistent cluster of veins. 

“Surely you can remember a few pleasant details about the arrangement?” 

“Garak, my Garak,” Julian whispers into his ear with trembling lips, with the last of his will “I’ve a-always loved the way you hold me down.”

 

~

**Author's Note:**

> A little of Garak's 'solution' and nonlinear thinking was inspired by the works of ladyyatexel on tumblr and used here with her kind permission. Rather, she said I didn't need to ask but she was flattered and pleased that I did.


End file.
